The Poet

The Poet

Friday, February 3, 2017

An Evil Wind Blows... A Dodoitsu by Ron Porter ©2017

I walk at night, dejected.
Love loss pain does fill my heart.
I just shit my pants; I thought
I only had to fart.

Why, Oh Why? Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh! hot finger tips, hips and lips;
Cinnamon candy and, honey drips
Oh woman tell me- why, oh why
For what reason does this man find
the female so pleasing to the eye
Yet, so disconcerting to the mind?

Just A Little Bit Of Nothing by Ron Porter ©2017

No musical strains and, no dance floor,
Pains of long ago, linger at the door;
I walk in rains on the sandy lake shore.
Memory stains cling to my core;
My poor brain is weary and sore.
And, like thunder echos in the night-
In love’s reins, I hear anguish roar.

Sa’tidday Night In Nigga Town by Ronald S Porte ©2017 (apologies to Laurence Dunbar)

Bug-eyed boogie boys practicin’on they horns;
Gran’pa got a razor blade - shaving his corns.
Pig foot smell floating in da air;
Auntie in da kitchin burnin’ her hair.
Brother man messin roun wit da deacon’s wife
Royal Crown fo clowns; I'se wit Spo’tin Waves,
Going out to injoy sum spo’tin life.

All the slangers, singers en big dick slingers,
Go pimpin on down to da Black n Tan.
Got ta get muh right fo Sa’tiddy night,
Gone go meet dat reet ol reefer man
Wit a dollah en a dime en muh hand.
All the slick chicks done grab dey beaus
And the sharp cats all got hole uh dey hos
After midnight chil, ever thang goes!
Lawd ha murcy we’ll be thowin it on down,
Cos its Sa’tiddy nite en Nigga town.

We gone do the Hi-Dee-Hi, Buck en Wang
We gone Shim-Sham Shimmy shake
Ever body will be muggin en a’buggin;
Snuggling en hugging til daylite break.
Drinkin wine n gin, we gone hi-side and sin;
Come on bahtender, set up a nuther round!
Den we’ll all sleep thu da Sunday sermon agin.
Afta a jumpin Sa’tiddy nite down in Nigga town

Tuesday, January 31, 2017

Nothing But The Blues by Ronald S Porter ©2017

I ain't got nothin' but the blues.
My car isn't running.
It's been six years of so since a taste of honey;
It am not funnin' you, I'm all out of money.
It's no joke, I just sit home, stroke and smoke
 and I'm running low on cigarettes. 
Loaded with debt;- I can't cover bets.

Wondering why I have no membership card,
'cause though I never get the club's newsletter,
I keep on paying the dues. I got no place to go
but, a lot of cool shoes. Otherwise life is hard
And I ain't got nothin' but the blues.

So I am caught between Charybdis and Scylla!
I wrote the preceding line in deference
to all the smart ass, snobby, critics who say 
True Poetry must include a literary reference

Freed At Last? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

We never fled across desert, yet
wandered a hostile desolate land.
We moved no stone to erect 
monuments to tower o'er hot sand.
Yet, we poured sweat, tears and blood
into black earth from sun to sun,
never to prosper from crops grown.
We had no names; we owned no field;
not one thing to call our own.
Oh! Pharoah's army ne'er pursued, 

When word came Let My people go!
There was no home to return to, so
we lingered in that hostile place;
life was hard, the people mean.
Gone were the old cold iron chains;
replaced by shackles of links unseen
Still we cry, we sweat we bleed.
And the very ones who parented our pain
ask what have you for which to complain?

Captured: A Love Poem? by Ronald S Porter ©2017

you read the secret of my dreams
you took my love for ransom
you chained my heart to your own
so that i would not make escape
ah! too late you saw your mistake
for in binding me to you
you made your self a captive too
oh sweet captivity!

two prisoners now locked in tandem
captured warriors in war called love
chained and bound yet not enslaved
neither do i seek to be set free
two hearts enlocked myself and thee
my only desire now is to be
for always held your captive. you
who read the secret of my dreams

Bow Bown King Nebuchadnezzar, Bow Down by Ron Porter ©2017

To my own self I set to erect an idol,
that I would construct of solid gold.
Consider, I halt twixt divine and profane.
Nor am I set perfectly between;
Thus I do not achieve the golden mean.
My construction would have been vain.
Neither could I match the golden section,
For I have two feet of clay.
So, I forsook my statue's erection;
I gave up the grand construction.
Discerning the folly of my endeavor.
I sat at The Master's feet, for instruction
Such shall I seek always and, for ever.

Psalm 152 by Ronald S Porter ©2017

Oh ye dry bones, hear the word of the Lord.
From the valley of suffering and lack;
From vales of death-like drug addiction;
Low places obscured by mountains;
Mountains of ignorance, poverty and despair.
Come now,  dry bones, assemble together!
Flesh torn from bodies, by switches and whips.
Chaffed by shackles and hangmen's noose;
Ripped away by persecution,and trial.
Now I will knit back on your frames.
I shall cover restored flesh, wrap it in skin;
Dark skin reminiscent of African nights.
The wind I shall send to breathe for you;
Breath of The Spirit, I put in you!
Be once more, a living people.
Hear the word, now, of The Lord
Ye Dry bones, O! Live again.
Remember My love, children, and prosper.
Call my name my people, and rejoice.